Castle full of nuts
by Blixa
Summary: Long ago, his pink glasses fell into the dust. 'It can't be worse', he kept saying to himself, but when he found himself in a prison, things changed. Shuuya Nanahara locked up in a castle what is not really a prison, but asylum. Everyone there is nuts.


"Nuts belongs to madhouse, not to government." She said to me in orphanage, in the middle of one massive gymnastic exhibition. In her times the asylums were named madhouses. With growing civilization, the similar institutes humanized and were named asylums. In civilized countries they place only ones with advanced state of insanity there. In our country they formed institute of rehabilitation. Intended to be a cover for a prison, but its just one big madhouse...

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_Chapter one_

_Castle full of nuts_

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They took some journalists on excursion in the madhouse. Head physician led them through each of hospital wards. Then they came to room without handles, where were the serious cases. Head physician opened door of one room. In there was a patient hanging on the ceiling. "He thinks he's a bulb." The physician said. "Why don't you get him down?" One journalist asked. Shocked the head physician said: "And what about the light?"

-

"Nanahara, man," One warder, which shortly after this conversation left the rows of a brigade of corrective education, to find some harder but better work, back in the normal world.

"Nanahara, man, can't be surprised here. They're nuts, at least seventy percent of 'em." He leaned towards me.

"Even between the members. There's lots of them, maybe even ninety percent. But what about it? If we're building prisons instead of asylums..."

It's nickname suited the place, the castle full of nuts, and it didn't matter what the directors and bosses felt about it. They called it that too. Shortly after my transport to the castle, some bankrupt captain, who healed his wounds on prisoners and let people title him _'the chief of education'_, called out for me. He lectured me, sitting under beautiful coat of arms, that if I think that members are idiots, they're not. All members of the brigade of corrective education, have at least a college. _AT LEAST_. He said. I knew from there on, that all warders on castle were at least docents. But there were even few academicians between them. There was even one bearing the Nobel Prize, though they once transported him from drunk, directly into the madhouse, not even knowing that he is, compared to other docents and academicians, only a deluded little rube from some small village. When he came back, after the cure and interventions, to the castle and was drunk again, he opened the peephole to the cell and screeched:

"Nuts, nuts, nuts - all of yu re nuts, and who's not nuts, is at wrong plaze here - nuts, nuts, NUTS!"

Then he turned the light off from outside and tossed flaming fag-end through the peephole. When he saw, that butt-end was flickering on wooden, oil soaked floor and no one was jumping for it, he desperately moaned:

"Nuts, all nuts! Your benefactor tossed a cigarette for you, so you could smoke a little. Nuts, you're nuts. You don't even know that there is something else than a pallet and toilet paper to smoke. Burn here, you nuts, burn with all this madhouse!"

Sometimes he was a tearful kind of a drunk, then he needed to share his sorrow. Another time scared to death, calling into his wireless walkie-talkie, which all the warders had to take with them: "I'm entering department six, Cover my back! Cover my back!".

Drunk he opened the cells and came among prisoners, to tell them, that he is the true casualty of regime.

"You know nothin, bout punishment... You are here for your ten or fifteen years and then you go to hell. But me, I must sit here for my whole fucking life..."

Then he started to tell the cruel story of his life. He liked animals as a child. Mostly horses. In school, even the multiplication table was problem for him, and for work he had both hands left. So he started helping some farmer, which promised him that if he's good boy he can groom the horses.

"I was happy with the horses... Yea - but then came this February victory of workers and this fucking political party threw me from my womb in this shit. Try be for twenty six years here, where everyone's nuts. Even an intelligent would gone nuts here. You are having a good time... few years and you go. But me?... You don't know what you have, and you don't even appreciate it..."

In the tourist guides, 'castle' is regarded as a building under reconstruction. In socialistic system is not an exception, that buildings are reconstructing, repairing and camouflaging from ten to twenty years. In whole world everyone knew that this castle was a prison. They firstly locked up bad priests here, then they placed criminals between bad priests. And then even this use inversed. Between murderers, thieves and criminals they placed bad priests to turn them onto the right beliefs. In the fleeting era of rehabilitations, TV was broadcasting a show about barbarism in this jail.

Under the name _'Truth about the Castle'_. Eyewitness blamed one warder (first lieutenant), that he was beating and killing political prisoners.

"I know nothing about that, I just pushed him. I don't remember what happened after that."

The same warder, who promoted to captain for the credit, greeted me right at the gate.

"Shuuya Nanahara, well we'll show him the truth about the castle!"

And patiently he showed me for all those years.

The castle, painted red, had a cruel effect from afar. But when you're inside, the well guarded walls, and you get on first, second and third courtyard, it's terrifying, shocking. Even Hitchcock would know himself for creating of child movies if he was there. It was a true horror.

"Undress those rags of yours and take our clothes." Said neurotic ruler of the laundry, bathroom and storeroom, his cheeks and shoulders twitching.

It was not a laundry, bathroom or not even the storeroom, but some caricature nonsense, but later about that. He tossed me a bundle of clothes, from what I was about to vomit. When he saw my reflexive reaction, he shouted, that he will lock me until I'll be green, which was absurd, because I was locked and I was going green when I saw those dirty clothes. The underpants and torn shirt without any buttons were all greased with washed flecks. I got a so called walking set with it - a wermacht uniform, some nazi surely died in this, and one green suit, which could suit a Gulliver or Golem, but for my sizes it was too big.

"You'll change this on the department." The ruler of the laundry, bathroom and storeroom said.

"He's going into isolation on political, sir." Tried a man who led me, guarding me not to talk with other prisoners.

But there was a rule about exchange. So I was forced into Golem's walking suit. Luckily, they never let me on any walk.

Dressed like on parade of vagabonds and wanderers, I took the bundle with blankets and reserve rags and foot-rags, which acted like towel and wiper here, and walked with young warder through the second, on the third courtyard, where after one hundred and sixteen sliding treading stairs, I walked through twice grating, one sheathed wicket with heavy latched crossbar and I appeared on the political department.

But it was restricted to call the political department political, instead they called it _'convicts judged according to first head of the criminal law, placed in isolation'_. Call the political prisoners, political was highly restricted, because even the castle heard about masterful statement of the president, that no one in this country is wanted or punished for his beliefs and doings, that no one was sentenced and there are no political prisoners in this country, just people sentenced for breaking of the valid laws.

I always felt comfortable knowing that I was sentenced for breaking the valid laws, but I asked WHAT LAWS?

So, it was restricted to call political prisoners political, but everyone did. The warders were proud of it, that they had political prisoners in their castle, and they were fat with pride. Then they were scared and shocked when the Free Radio and others ran news about sanctions against me. Outside the walls, the warders were racing in it. Who better dealt with me, who better hit me. They were talking about it, not only drunk in surrounding taverns but even on so called rehabilitations in Carl's Baths, where they were sent on fourteen days each year, aside of their vacations, because they had to rest after one year of hard work on the risky workplace.

When once I was beaten and then two days after, Free Radio and west newspapers let out info about it. All warders on the castle were terrified. How it got out? The explanation was more than clear, one member of the brutal actions against me went, on the same day, into the baths and spilled it out between evening discussion. He wanted to show himself, that he's not just an ordinary warder, that he was something else, that he's the man of trust, that government gave him trust, they gave him Shuuya Nanahara in his care. And because not everyone in the Baths was a warder or cop and my name was quite popular that time, it was no wonder that Free Radio knew it.

But what about it.

I came into the political department, illegal to call political. There was cold corridor, where prisoners were re-educated by work (if some work was left for us). One destructed cell, the storeroom of material (if some waste material from gangsters and murderers was left) and one not destructed cell with eight plank-beds, and toilet in the corner. There we were re-educated from dawn till dusk (if we were not re-educated in correction, which was smart combination of medieval torture chamber and dungeon, where they placed us for the smallest reasons. Between prisoners it's called, the 'fucking the hole', and I fucked the torture chamber all the time.)

In the cold corridor, six mifls glued little boxes for harmonicas. That was the whole famous political department. I was the seventh. From those six, were four political, sentenced by the first head of the criminal law. The oldest was seventy years old lawyer, who was sent to death row before this, he waited for long six years for execution until they found out that it was mistake and let him out. But they locked him again for some other nonsense just before his rehabilitation. Other was colonel in retirement, hero from all modern wars, got seven years for the same thing. Then young revolutionary, four years for organizing socialistic youth aside the only allowed association. The last one from four of political prisoners was German, antifascist, he had wounded arm from the war. For us he was 'old mifl'. He was on the castle for full six years from his nine years. Sentenced for funeral photo of his wife which had some army building in the background. We called him Mr. Spy. He talked funny with german accent, sometimes he cursed with german words.

Remaining two mifls were there either for the fill-up or by a mistake. They were just fine, little older than me but fine, even if they were skilled criminals. We called them Marmot and Golem. Both nicknames suited their body and characteristic proportions.

Lawyer, set to be the 'leader of cell', sat against the sheathed wicket and saw me first, when with bundle and in new uniform I was thrown into the corridor by warder.

"I told you they'll throw him here." He shouted and rushed with others against me, to greet me.

But behind me and young warder stood some other warder, who came to control, if is everything according to instructions with me. He didn't like the rush, so the blood fill his vocal chords. When he shouted at the six prisoners, excluding me, from what I deduced that those words were aiming me. He closed the door behind him and led me into the cell.

"You'll sleep here," he pointed at the empty plank-bed under window "we reserved this especially for you. It's not just ordinary bed, Nanahara, on this bed laid even our president when he was locked here-"

"He was here illegally too?" I tried to complete.

"-and now he's president."

He thought that even I could become a president of this country.

From there on he was nice to me, making himself alibi for the uncle circumstance.

* * *

Disclaimer: Well, you can't have anything, so Battle Royale is not mine.

A/N: Ideas from real things what were happening in my country under communistic oppression until 1989.


End file.
